Sometimes I crave a spanking. I fantasise about getting a hot bum and having to wriggle and avoid the blows, and have to plead for the spanking to stop.
I had this feeling last week when I was on the way home and mentioned it yesterday in a post.
But this is not any spanking, its the whole thing from being told I’m going to be getting a spanking and how hard its going to be. Its the cliches that need to be said, its the protocols and procedures. Its the corner time afterwards, its having the tingling and heat of a well roasted bottom and its the act of being submissive to my Mistress.
I like the fact that I’m helpless and any resistance will be met with refusual, denial, or promises of worse to come. The enevibility of being spanked can be mind blowing and sets my heart racing.
Once it is time to be spanked, things are out of my control (as they should have been since it was announced) and I have to comply with the will of the spanker. The implement is revealed and I am a bit worried with the one that has been chosen. Now I have to get into position and I’m worried more with the way my unprotected bottom will be exposed to the implement. Finally the one stroke lands, that’s not too bad I think, just a bit of a thud. Then half a second later, the sting starts before it is cruely interupted by a much harder stroke landing on the other cheek. This one causes a curse and worry really sets in that I’ve asked for too much. “That’s how you’re going to get it – hard”, I remember my tormenter telling me when I had to politely ask for a spanking. Not just a spanking, I had to ask for a hard spanking.
The strokes continue and the only thing that helps me is that this time the strokes are not coming hard and fast, sure they are landing hard, but the delay between each stroke is just enough to make it almost bearable. Please don’t give me two strokes on the same cheek I think and then the pain increases to the threshold when I have to try and avoid the stinging blows.
“That’s another six you’re getting before we finish” I hear, and sure enough another six hard strokes land across my bottom. It’s all finished and the punisher want to take a photograph of a well strapped bottom as the redness developes.
I get up and wonder why I ever wanted this. Luckily it was stopped before it got much worse, it could have went on longer or much harder just as I had dreamt it.
I need to have a word with C to find out exactly how many strokes that she gave with the Dominator strap before I really got out of position avoiding them. C can use that as the basis future punishments and the knowledge of what I have to endure will be foremost on my mind the next time. “Now do you think you should shower?”, C asks. And off I go to have the water torment my tender bottom further.